Memories from the House of Black
by sodalite
Summary: Short Fiction concerning members of the Black Family.
1. Winter 1964

**Memories from the House of Black**

**Short fiction concerning members of the Black family. **

Winter 1964

This is the story of how a legacy of a thousand years came to an end. This is a tale of how one family disappeared, of how generations of wizards came to nothing.  
This is the twilight of the Black Family. Here is the beginning of the end.

Outside it is snowing. The residents of Grimmauld Place are mostly Muggle, and have a tendency to be somewhat afraid of the strange people living at number twelve. Eccentrics, they call them. This is Christmas however, and people are usually inclined to be more accommodating at Christmas. As such, the visiting relatives of Grimmauld's residents do not mind sharing their snowball fight with the visitors to number twelve.

There is only one child who does not laugh with them as they beat each other with weapons of snow, although she joins in with their game in silence. She is wrapped tightly in her winter clothes, aristocratic, according to the grown-ups, her long dark hair held back in a fancy braid. Her eyes are dark, and there can be no doubt that she is beautiful. All the boys outside observe her with reverent awe, and are afraid of hitting her too hard with the snow. She is clever, playing this to her advantage, she beats them every time. Oddly, they don't seem to mind, being beaten by a girl from the house of eccentrics.  
_  
This is Bellatrix.  
She is the dark one, the one they never understood, the eldest.  
She is afraid; in her heart she fears greatly what will come.  
In her mind she holds a memory, of a dream in which she saw her world crumble.  
She does not tell a soul, for they might think her strange.  
She knows her dreams come true sometimes; she sees the destruction left in the wake of her fight for freedom, and seeks to undo the future.  
She will fight on the dark side, for now the dark side is the safest way to go.  
_  
She stops, only for a moment, around her the game continues. She stares upwards, back towards her house, to where the other stands watching. She waves her hand in a beckoning motion, but the girl in the window does not move.  
_  
This is Narcissa, the watcher at the window whilst the others play in the snow outside.  
They call her the fair child. The youngest.  
She laughs at everything, like a small twinkle of starlight her joy echoes across the world.  
She is the dreamer; the one they always said would change the world.  
She is the beautiful one, that is all.  
She dreams of changing the world, making herself more than just beauty. She knows one day she will better her siblings, will be the one the world remembers.  
The greatest of the Black sisters. This is what she dreams.  
_  
From behind the dark one, another appears, smaller and mousy. She is pretty, but not beautiful, her hand reaches out to touch the other on the arm.  
"What are you looking at, Bella?" she asks. Bella turns slightly to face her sister.  
"Nothing," she says. A snowball hits her on the shoulder and explodes into powdery dust. As though this breaks a spell, the fight resumes, and Bella is still winning. The mousy one glances up at the house where her sister had been looking. All the windows are empty.  
_  
This is Andromeda.  
She is the one who learned to be stubborn.  
Trapped between the eldest and youngest, she is neither fair nor dark. Between the great beauty of her sisters she is entirely unremarkable.  
She was never one to indulge in dreams, for she knows they never come true. Nor will she plan for a future that may never come.  
She has her way.  
She does not mind, for she knows herself and is certain. She knows she will find happiness for she never thinks to seek it.  
Here and now is where she lives, wherever that may be.  
_  
This is only the beginning.

Before these children is kept a thousand years of history, in front of them, the greatest events of those thousand years. Night is falling rapidly now. In this moment in the snow, they cannot know what awaits them. In this moment they are innocent, they are truly themselves. This last winter that they share before the end begins. This is the end, as it stands. Here and now. This is the story of the last years of the Black family, from their twilight until their fall. It is almost over now.


	2. Dreamscape

**Memories from the House of Black**

**Short fiction concerning members of the Black family. **

Dreamscape

**(…Dark…)**

_Bella?_

Bella.

Wake up Bellatrix…

Time to bid farewell to your childhood silliness.

_Smile, sweetheart. Smile for the camera…_

Mother? Mother where are you?

_Open your eyes, child! _

Mama I'm frightened.

_You'll never know if you don't try._

Do you trust me, Bellatrix? 

Yes, mama, I trust you.

_Good._

Are you listening to me?

Pay attention Bellatrix!

Stupid girl. 

Mama?

_This is education. _

No, mother, it is truth.

_Good. _

The truth is foolish.

**(…Pain…)**

_Do you see? _

Yes!

_Liar! Do you see? _

Yes mother, I can see!

**(…Tree…)**

_Look, Bella, sweetheart. See the tree. _

Pretty.

_Yes. That's you. _

Silly mama! That's a tree.

_That's you sweetheart. You have to protect the beauty…_

…Yes, mama, of course mama.

_Do you dream still? _

Less now.

_Good. _

**(…Lies…)**

…I see the end.

_What end? _

Of the world. If I break the tree.

_So don't break it_.

I don't believe it.

_…dead already. _

I can fight.

_Against what? _

The tree.

_I'm sorry? _

No. I'm sorry…

…We never met…

_What? _

**(…green…)**

_Bella?_

Bella.

Wake up, Bella! 

I shut my eyes and open them again, a blink in the space of seemingly endless time, and wonder: Was I always as I am now? Humanity is, I suspect deceptive. He is speaking, and I am only half awake. Halflife.

"Our lord is waiting, Bellatrix."

Oh, Rodolphus, if only the truth were so clear.

I roll up my sleeves in the summer warmth for the very last time. The sun has a strangely gentle touch upon my pale skin.

"Bella?" It is Lucius who greets me in the hallway. "I'm sorry about your mother. Do they have any idea what happened?"

"None." I bow my head. "None at all."


	3. Toujours Firewhiskey

**Memories from the House of Black**

**Short fiction concerning members of the Black family. **

Toujours Firewhiskey

The youngest of the four trailed a considerable distance behind the others, dragging his feet in the dusty snow. It was oddly silent here, though in the distance an echoed mass of laughter could be heard, borne on the fluttering flakes.

"Hurry," the only girl amongst them turned around to berate the straggler.

Lucius glanced up at Bella, "If you'd let me go to Zonko's," he muttered, blowing fiercely on his mitten-clad fingertips. He wondered if it was possible to be poisoned slowly by the cold.

Bellatrix actually laughed at this statement. "Child's play!" She giggled suddenly, the deceptively light sound startling Lucius into motion again.

"He is a child." Rabastan's harsh voice emerged through the snow. Lucius kept on walking, determined suddenly.

He wondered how much respect he would gain for being considered one of them, and the jealously that this would induce amongst his own classmates.

"He will learn," he heard Bella's response and was aware of being gratified for her tolerance.

He had a sudden fleeting image of himself, sitting on his four-poster bed, retelling tales of adventures with his older friends. He smiled as he saw the four faces, lit by candlelight, gazing adoringly at his own. It was, he thought, an utterly perfect ambition. It was a good thing then, he decided, that he was a Slytherin for they were known for achieving their ambitions.

Bellatrix dropped back to join him again. "You ought to be careful," she spoke in a hushed tone. "Those who trail behind tend to be the weakest."

"I'm not weak," he said, quickly. Bella nodded slightly and moved on through the snow.

The small band of intrepid explorers drew to a halt outside a wooden door, which hung rotting on its rusty hinges. Lucius wondered vaguely if those who passed through its threshold were equally rotten. He shivered slightly, suddenly cold and wrapped his arms around his small figure.

"Where are we?" Lucius untangled one of his arms and tapped Rodolphus on the shoulder. He was shaken off rapidly. He saw the fleeting glance between Bella and Rodolphus and even he understood that it had been her influence that led him away from the hoards of other students.

Rabastan gestured at the crooked sign above them. Lucius read the words out loud. "The Hogs Head?" He was intrigued. He had often heard of The Three Broomsticks, but never this place. He supposed most students were not of a high enough calibre to cross the threshold.

He retracted this final thought the moment Rabastan closed the door, shutting off the snowy street outside.

"It's a little dusty," Lucius observed, carefully. The barman narrowed his eyes at the students and returned to his methodical task of wiping a dirty glass with a dirtier rag.

"Don't judge by appearance, Lucius," Rabastan said, with a slight chuckle. "Who knows what terrible prejudices might arise?"

Bella grinned and shared an amused, intimate glance with Rodolphus. It was utterly lost on Lucius, although he smiled slightly in an attempt to hide this.

It didn't work. "You'll understand someday," Bella said to him, as they sat down.

"Firewhiskey for four!" Rodolphus called to the barman and then added belatedly, "Please."

The barman said nothing and Lucius thought that they must have been ignored. He had wanted a butterbeer, but knew it would sound ungrateful if he refused the firewhiskey, which was placed on the table a few moments later.

As Bella handed the barman a handful of shining galleons he wondered what his mother would say if he were caught. He decided not to voice this concern.

His friends would be quite jealous. He smiled to himself at this, although - thankfully – it went unnoticed.

Bella was leaning back idly against Rodolphus, examining her own glass of Firewhiskey as though it were some form of liquid gold.

Except, (the afterthought to this observation struck Lucius quite suddenly), that Bella wouldn't be nearly as awed by liquid gold.

He glanced nervously at his own drink, sitting quite innocently on the dusty tabletop. He wrapped the fingers of his left hand slowly around the glass and lifted it with thoughtful, slightly fearful care, which might have been languid arrogance. Even Lucius didn't know which it was.

"Already an aristocrat!" Rabastan clapped the boy on the shoulder. Lucius barely managed to steady the Firewhiskey; he slammed it rather too hard onto the table, stirring up a whirlwind of dust, which he promptly choked on.

Rabastan flashed Lucius an oddly feral grin, finished his own drink in a single gulp and leapt up as though readying for a fight. Bellatrix observed him as he stalked over to the bar and ordered another two drinks. She raised one eyebrow slightly.

"Inelegant," she decided, after a moment, and Lucius knew she had been searching for a suitable word to describe Rodolphus' brother.

"Sorry," Rodolphus said, clearly not at all apologetic. Lucius had the distinct impression that he was mocking Bella, though he couldn't work out why.

"Drink up," said Bella, gesturing to the glass in Lucius' hand. "I paid."

She raised her glass, in echo of a toast, "Toujours pur." She sipped the drink with an elegant casualness that only a Black could achieve. He didn't think it was fearful care.

"Toujours Firewhiskey," said Rodolphus with a sly smirk.

Lucius attempted to straighten his back whilst retaining the idle causality perfected by his companions. He suspected that he looked about as comfortable as a muggle clown at a funeral.

He hated muggle clowns.

It was useful though, to have such a hatred of something muggle. It made it easier to hate the muggles.

All muggles are clowns. He smiled again and raised the glass, allowing the liquid to touch his lips.

"See..." Bella leaned over, and ran one finger along the boy's face, touching his lips. She withdrew slowly. "You're one of us now." She licked her finger thoughtfully.

"Perfect!" She proclaimed after a moment's silence and drank the remainder of her own, dusty glass.


	4. Memories of kisses and lullabies

**Memories from the House of Black**

**Short fiction concerning members of the Black family. **

Memories of kisses and lullabies  


In a large house on the outskirts of Hogsmeade a woman glanced out of a window into the street below. It had been many years since she had felt such anticipation, and many more since she had been unaware of the reasons. She wished she knew what it was she was waiting for; the uncertainty of it all disturbed her greatly, frightened her even, though she would never admit it. She kicked the edge of the coffee table in frustration, sending the single cup resting on its surface across the room, where it shattered rather spectacularly. She swore, hating herself suddenly for making such a mess, waving her wand to repair it. Perhaps, she thought, she was madder than she had first presumed, though she did not think that madmen understood their own madness.

The doorbell rang, a sharp sound that cut through any ponderings of insanity. The woman froze, wondering if opening the door was a good idea. Such anticipation was bound to mean negative consequences, she had learned that much in her life. The doorbell rang again. She almost laughed out loud, but thought better of it. The Dark Lord would be ashamed to see her standing here so afraid. She flung the door open, with as much power as she could muster.

"Oh," she said, "'Cissy."

"Bella," 'Cissy replied, "I do hope I am not interrupting anything."

"No, of course not. Come in." Bella tried hard to keep her voice steady as she glanced beyond 'Cissy, "Are you alone?"

"Yes." said 'Cissy, pulling off her cloak to reveal her long hair, which hung in matted clumps across her shoulders.

"May I help you with anything specific?" asked Bella, trying hard to keep her tone professional. 'Cissy's weakness had always been her emotions; Bella did not particularly want to deal with one of her hysterical tantrums today.

"He goes back tomorrow," said 'Cissy, softly. Bella found herself admiring her sister's self control, "I don't think I can let him."

"You must, 'Cissy. He has agreed to it, you should support him."

"I do! – He thinks I do. He is only a child."

"He is sixteen." Bella did not know how to approach the subject without unleashing her sister's emotions, "Perhaps you should be grateful for this chance."

"Grateful? You want me to be grateful?" 'Cissy was becoming angry. Not, Bella realised, a good sign.

"If he succeeds your family will be honoured. Think about it, he will have saved you from certain death."

"And if he fails?"

"Severus will complete the task. No great harm will be done. Dumbledore will die; by one hand or another."

"This isn't about completing the task, Bella! If he fails he will die! My son will die!"

Bella did not know what to say to this, she decided to repeat what she had said when they had spoken with Severus, "If I were in your position-"

"You would die! Don't you understand? You would die before you sacrificed your own child!"

"Only a Gryffindor would express such noble emotions, 'Cissy."

"It has nothing to do with being noble, he is my child!" 'Cissy was growing angrier by the second, in a way that Bella had not seen for years, "Why shouldn't we be allowed to love? Why, Bella? Tell me why!" 'Cissy swept her arm across the shelf where Bella kept her few framed photographs. They smashed in a heap on the floor, along with 'Cissy, who now appeared to be crying.

Ignoring her sister, Bella knelt down beside the picture frames, picking them up slowly. Their inhabitants protested fiercely at being treated with such disrespect. It almost amused her. She mended each frame individually and placed it back in its rightful place on the shelf. The final picture showed three girls dancing in the snow at Christmas. It was such a clichéd image and yet Bella had never been able to part with it. She held the broken frame in her hand, and stared at her family, feeling a tinge of regret for what had once been. Her younger self turned suddenly and kissed her fair-headed sister. A hand touched her arm, and she found herself looking into 'Cissy's tear stained face.

"Why did you come to me?" asked Bella.

'Cissy did not answer immediately, "I don't know. I always trusted you when we were children."

"We aren't children anymore 'Cissy."

"I know." She was silent for a moment, "Bella?"

"Yes?"

"I never realised. I'm sorry."

"Realised what, 'Cissy?"

"Those photos. I never realised you cared so much. I thought Azkaban had made you even more detached than you already were."

Bella momentarily considered not answering but said instead, "It did."

'Cissy's blue eyes were suddenly staring into her own, "I'm sorry." She said again.

"Don't be sorry." Bella said, more sharply than intended, "I think sometimes I might have gone insane, but then I know insane people don't realise they are insane and so I cannot be insane."

"No more than you were anyway, Bella." said 'Cissy, and for the first time in years Bella was utterly grateful for her sister's presence. She touched 'Cissy's face and allowed her closer. They had not kissed like this since they had been at school. Not a passionate kiss like those she shared with Rodolphus, or 'Cissy with Lucius, but pure love and exploration, almost as innocent as children in the snow. 'Cissy's hand entangled itself in her own, as if sealing a secret pact.

"Sing me to sleep?" whispered 'Cissy, when they broke apart, "Like you used to."

"I can't, 'Cissy." Bella had to fight harder now to maintain the calm steadiness of her voice.

"Of course you can. You always had the best voice."

"Really, I can't. Not since -"

'Cissy hugged her tightly then, clinging onto her with wordless understanding of how much her sister had truly given up for what she believed. Then, before she became too afraid, she began to sing the only song she remembered; the Muggle lullaby that Bella had once sung her to sleep with, when they really had been children.  
_  
"Baby's boat's the silver moon,  
Sailing in the sky,  
Sailing o'er the sea of sleep,  
While the clouds float by.  
Sail, baby, sail,  
Out upon that sea,  
Only don't forget to sail  
Back again to me.  
Back again to me._

Baby's fishing for a dream,  
Fishing near and far,  
His line a silver moonbeam is,  
His bait a silver star.  
Sail, baby, sail,  
Out upon that sea,  
Only don't forget to sail  
Back again to me.  
Back again to me."

"You always liked that," said Bella, stroking 'Cissy's tangled hair, pulling out the knots with her fingers until it was smooth again, "You wouldn't go to sleep without it. Mother was horrified."

"Yes, I remember. You used to have to creep into our room to sing it to us. I wish mother had let you sing it to everyone. You were so good."

Bella looked away, "She wouldn't though, it was Muggle. You know she blamed me for Andromeda."

"Corruption by Muggle lullaby?" asked 'Cissy, turning Bella's face back towards her, "Mother was foolish at times. Andie was stubborn; she would have followed her heart no matter what anyone said. It's why…" she hesitated.

"Why you liked her so much. I know. Her daughter is the same."

"Andie has a daughter?" said 'Cissy, startled.

"You didn't know?"

"No."

"I fought her in the ministry, I ought to have killed her really, like I killed Sirius, but I couldn't. When I looked at her I saw only her mother, as she was when we were young. I couldn't kill her."

"You didn't have to." Said 'Cissy. "It didn't matter. You killed Sirius, who deserved it for his arrogance. Andie wasn't arrogant like that, only stubborn. What's her name?"

"Andie's daughter? I'm not sure. She was only called Tonks."

"She hated her name enough that she wanted to be called Tonks?" asked 'Cissy, incredulous.

"I never thought of it like that," said Bella, "Andie always did have a taste for odd names. Didn't she try to name that cat Nymphadora?"

"Oh! I had forgotten! You refused to let her, I believe." They laughed, and kissed each other again, each holding onto the other as though this were the last time they would see each other. Of course, with the world in its current state, Bella was never sure who she would see again.

Bella did not know if they slept, or if time merely sped up as one was so entangled in another. Dawn was beginning to break; a light greying hue covered the sky. The two sisters lay perfectly still on the floor in each other's arms, neither wanting to break the contact, sometimes just lying still, sometimes sharing kisses, but always in contact with the other. Bella rose slowly, reluctantly, pulling 'Cissy's cloak from the back of the sofa.

"You should go back. See Draco off at the station," said Bella, softly.

'Cissy nodded, pulling on her cloak, "Thank you."

Bella touched her sister's face gently, sharing a final goodbye kiss,  
"Go."

From the window, Bella watched the hooded figure hurry into the street and disappear. Reaching a hand up to her face, she wiped away the tears that had unwittingly escaped. It was a halfhearted attempt, though; for the first time in over twenty years she was unashamed.


	5. Song of the Phoenix

**Memories from the House of Black.**

**Short Fiction concerning members of the Black family.**

Song of the Phoenix  


It was always going to happen. Bella has known as much since they day she first joined this foolish crusade against such a difficult resistance. They are too different, too controversial to be truly understood by the majority. She hates their persecution of her people, how those who dare to follow their beliefs are looked down upon so much.

The daily announcements in the Prophet, the great propaganda machine of the Wizarding world seem never to stop or rest. Her people are evil, their actions are evil, they are beings without a purpose or reason for existence; they must be feared. They are worthless and mad, killers without remorse or care, deadly, heartless, hopeless. They deserve to die, deserve worse than death. It nearly makes her sick to read. Do they without a heart count the number killed by their own hand in a war?

Thirty-seven.

Bella spits on the paper and throws it onto the fire, where it crackles satisfyingly and burns into dust.

Celebrations continue as You-Know-Who is defeated!

Bloody liars. It is, Bella knows, the ministry who ought to suffer punishment at the hands of her people.

She wishes, most of all, that they would distinguish between the mask and it's wearer, for they are wholly different. She is not the mask, but the mask is her symbol, a symbol for the union of the new world, the rising glory. It, like the mark branded into her left forearm, forms a constant reminder of their eternal battle.

What must be understood – and Bella has always known this – is that people who follow such a harsh lifestyle as she does, must believe entirely in their cause. So entirely, even, that they are willing to kill or be killed in their fight.

One man's terrorist is another's freedom fighter.

Her leader had always said they will be victorious, that they will restore the Wizarding world to its former glory. It is like the seasons, he had said - cyclical in nature. Civilisations always fall, and from the ashes will come something new. Like, she thinks, with a hysterical giggle, Dumbledore's pet phoenix.

The Muggle years had placed a fog over the Wizarding world. It was a shame, she had said to him, that anybody who tried to claim greatness was squashed by people who desired nothing more than day to day living, in a world that had become a rather nasty shade of grey.

Her leader always told her she must not lament the past. That this was the old world, and it was crumbling.

She does not belong to a fallen world, but a new one, a perfect one.  
She has wept for so many hours, for her leader who gave such great hope, and is no longer there. It seemed then, in such an hour of despair and darkness and tears, as though all their efforts had been futile.

Except this is not the case. She does not believe him to have gone. She collects her ragged thoughts and understands the truth. He had promised them, you see, promised that he would lead them out of the ashes and into a glorious new age.

Lord Voldemort does not break his promises.

She trusted her leader, her leader, who sought the same immortality given to the phoenix. The phoenix, whose song brings hope into the darkest corner of the most broken heart. He stands as a symbol of their hope, and their ideals. Ultimately, she still trusts him. Her belief that her side is right can never be changed.

They, her people, are the ones clever enough to take advantage of what must come. There will come a time when the individual must survive alone. Survival of the fittest, and her people will be the strong ones. Joined in both spirit and body, they will have power.

To each other, she thinks, they have the loyalty of a thousand Hufflepuffs.

Civilisations always fall, and from the slow decay into the chaos of destruction, something beautiful, hopeful and ultimately immortal shall emerge.

Her world will awaken from this dying, sickening, terrible land.

In the end, her leader will be right.

They will win.


End file.
